Chapter I: Jem Ward (champion).—1822–1831 (3)

8.—At the commencement of this round a wag let go a crow from a bag,
which flew across the ring. Some cried “a pigeon,” others “a crow,”
and a Hibernian praty-dealer exclaimed, “Oh, by Jabers, you’re not
going to _crow_ over us neither.” Loud laughter from all parts of
the ring. Ward stopped a left-handed compliment, and smiled; he then
popped in a left-handed snorter; but Byrne, in return, caught him a
heavy body blow with his right. Ward popped in his left twice in
smashing style, and in a third visitation of the same sort hit Byrne
down. This was proclaimed a decided knock-down blow.

9.—Byrne weak, and bleeding profusely. Ward jobbed him with his left
several times in succession with great severity. Byrne, still game,
tried to plant his left and right, but was beautifully stopped. A
rally, in which Ward, busy as a bee, planted right and left, hit up
with his left, and, as Byrne was going down, caught him across the
throat with his right, and dropped him on his seat of honour.

10.—The fight had now lasted twenty-eight minutes, and Jem had not a
mark visible, save on the chin, and a trifling effusion of blood
from the gums. Byrne tried his right, but Jem up shoulder and
stopped him. Jem now made play, and in went his left at the mouth
and nose and no mistake. Byrne tried to return, but was stopped, and
in the close Byrne went down weak.

11.—Jem walked strong from his second’s knee. Byrne tried his right
at the mark, but Jem caught it on his elbow, and Byrne having
dropped his head, he caught him cleverly an upper-cut as he
recovered himself. Byrne was broken-hearted from the scientific way
in which he was stopped, but again tried a rally, in which he
received pepper left and right, and in the close went down weak.
(Cries of “Byrne, you’re a game fellow, but you haven’t a chance.”)
This was obvious, but still Byrne’s friends looked forward to Ward
becoming weak.

12.—The punishment had been heretofore all on Byrne’s mouth and
nose, and they continued to bleed freely. Ward caught a visitation
on his mouth, amidst cries of “Well done, Byrne.” A rally, in which
Byrne missed his hits, but received on the nose, and went down by
the ropes.

13.—Ward ready, and determined not to throw a chance away. Byrne
tried a body blow, but was stopped, receiving in return a smasher on
the nose—more claret. Jem’s shoulder again shielded his lug from a
visitation. Counter-hits: Ward’s told first, and Byrne’s was
stopped. Byrne rushed in; Ward hit up heavily, but missed, and Byrne
went down.

14.—Thirty-three minutes had now elapsed, and Jem showed slight
symptoms of fatigue. (“Take your time,” cried his seconds, “the day
is long, and you must win without a scratch.”) Byrne appeared to
have got his second wind, and went in with spirit, but was stopped
right and left. Ward was busy with his left, and again stopped a
right-hander with his shoulder. A short rally, in which Byrne was
unable to plant a blow, but was hit down with a flush hit from the
left. (Twenty to one on Ward, which Neale offered to take, but no
go.)

15.—Ward made a feint with his left, and the next instant popped it
in in good earnest. Counter-hitting. Byrne could not get home, and
had it smartly on his mouth. Several left-handed jobs, and a
dreadful upper-cut from Jem, when Byrne went down groggy.

16.—Byrne tried, the left at the body, but missed, and went down
without a blow.

17.—Jem jobbed twice with his left, and got away. Byrne’s hits were
well meant, but out of distance. Byrne received an upper-cut from
the left, and went down.

18.—Ward, all confidence, had recovered his temporary weakness.
Byrne tried his left, but was stopped. Jem, after his feint, popped
in his left three times, and Byrne was dropped.

19.—Counter-hitting with the left. Ward’s blows told, but Byrne’s
were short. Jem stopped right and left, and got away. Byrne was
completely puzzled, and did not know what to be at. Jem tipped him a
left-hander. Byrne once more tried the right, but Jem’s shoulder was
in the way, and he laughed at the impotent attempt. A rally, which
ended in Byrne being hit down by Ward’s right.

20.—One hour had now elapsed. Ward was as fresh as a kitten,
completely belying the rumour that he could not stand forty-five
minutes. Poor Byrne received several severe jobbers, and went down.

21.—Things were now apparently fast drawing to a close. Ward did as
he liked, hitting left and right. Byrne down.

22.—It was now admitted on all sides that Byrne showed game. He
would not be taken away; and after receiving additional jobbers, was
hit down, catching the upper-cut as he fell. (“Take him away,” was
the general cry.)

23.—Byrne made a bold effort to get a turn in his favour, and rushed
to a rally, but his opponent was too good a general, stopping him at
all points, and returning with great severity; in the end hitting
him down with a sweeping blow from the left.

24.—Jem tapped his man with his left. Byrne nodded, showing that he
was still in hopes. Byrne made play with unexpected vigour, but Jem
out-generalled him, popped in his left-hand teazer, and dropped him.

25.—A guinea to sixpence on Ward. Byrne made a desperate effort, and
left-handed counters were exchanged, Byrne catching Ward on the
throat. (Cheers for Byrne, and the Wardites astonished.) Byrne
fought away, and gave Ward his work to stop him. He at last fell
from a left-handed nobber.

26.—Byrne rather exhausted by his exertions in the last round, but
still determined to do his best. Hits were exchanged—slight on the
part of Byrne, but heavy from Ward; and in going down, poor Byrne
received a heavy upper-cut.

27.—Ward’s friends again up in the stirrups, twenty to one going a
begging. Ward ready at all points and full of confidence. Byrne a
heavy receiver, and hit down with a flush tap in the mouth.

28.—Ward, fresh and jolly, hit with his left twice. Byrne bored in,
and tumbled Ward down at the ropes, falling upon him.

29.—One hour and ten minutes had now elapsed, and Ward, instead of
getting weaker, gained strength, showing the excellence of his
condition. Byrne got away from a left-handed finisher. In a new
attempt he was caught. He popped in his left at Ward’s bread-basket,
but as he went down had a left-handed upper-cut.

30.—Counter-hits with the left on the mouth; both told, and were
allowed to be the best exchanges yet made, all before being on the
side of Ward. Byrne went down, but Ward caught him as he fell with a
left-handed muzzler.

31.—A slaughtering round for poor Byrne, who had it repeatedly on
the mouth with the left, and in going down received the upper-cut
from Ward, who was never astray.

32.—Byrne greatly distressed. Ward went in to finish; planted his
left three times. Byrne down.

33 and last.—Byrne now came up to make his last effort, but he was
too far gone to make a change, and this more from exhaustion than
hard hitting, for the blows were not delivered in dangerous places;
still he was constantly receiving, and now again he had pepper in
abundance, without being able to make any adequate return. In going
down, Ward made a desperate back-handed offer with his right, but
missed. It was clear to Spring and Reynolds that their man had no
chance, and they prudently acknowledged Ward to be the better man.
Jem immediately gave an active bound, shook hands with his fallen
foe and his friends, and quitted the ring amidst loud cheers. The
fight lasted one hour and seventeen minutes.

REMARKS.—Thus ended Ward’s last battle for the championship of
England, to which it may now be said Byrne had not the slightest
pretensions. He had the vanity to hold his antagonist too cheap,
and, unfortunately, deceived his friends, who followed his example.
Ward, throughout, proved himself a consummate general, and never
gave his opponent a chance, nor did he himself throw a chance away.
He fought skilfully and scientifically, and has fulfilled that high
character of his talents which was never doubted. Byrne proved
himself an easy customer: he was clearly not in tip-top-condition;
but it was never in his nature to beat a man like Jem Ward. He must
now look for a second-rate customer, and profit by experience. That
he is a game man at receiving, no one will doubt; but he was clearly
afraid of his opponent after the first few rounds. It puzzled his
friends to account for his never trying to stop Ward’s left, nor to
rush to a ruffianing fight; but the fact was, his spirit was broken,
and he had not his wits about him. He says, after the third round
his arms felt as heavy as lead, and that he never was so
transmogrified before. It is a singular fact that neither of the men
had a black eye; neither had an external cut worth mentioning; nor
was there a single good fall or cross-buttock throughout the fight.
Byrne was beaten solely by exhaustion and repeated slaps on the nose
and mouth, which would not have prevented his coming again had such
a step been wise.

The men reached London on Wednesday night, Ward without a scratch, and Byrne only exhibiting a swollen mouth and nose, rather a surprising state of his phiz considering the repetition of Ward’s left-handed jobs.

On the Thursday following the fight Jem Ward was presented with a second champion’s belt by Tom Spring, at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street, on the occasion of Reuben Martin’s benefit; and on the following evening, when the battle-money was given up, he (Ward) offered to make a match to fight any man in the world for any sum from £100 to £500 a-side. This challenge was not accepted. Young Dutch Sam, however, offered to fight Ward if the latter would confine himself to twelve stone, and stake odds; but of course, as Ward could not so far reduce himself, the offer was not accepted. On the 25th of June, 1832, Jem wrote a letter to the editor of _Bell’s Life in London_, in which he stated that he had taken the Belt public-house at Liverpool, that it was his intention to retire from the ring, and to hand over the champion’s belt to the first man who proved himself worthy of it. Several challenges were subsequently issued to Ward, but none of them ever led to any meeting, and Jem adhered to his intention of not again entering the prize ring. He carried on business as a tavern keeper, first at the Star and then at the York Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool. In 1853, Ward removed to London, and became host of the Rose, in Jermyn Street. This speculation proving unsuccessful, his friends placed him in business at the Three Tuns, in Oxford Street, renamed the Champion’s Stores. Thence Jem Ward removed to his native locality, the east end of London, becoming landlord of the George, in Ratcliff Highway. The generation, however, who knew Jem as “the Black Diamond,” had passed away, and Ward once again migrated westward, this time opening the theatrical house, opposite Old Drury, known by various signs, and then as the Sir John Falstaff, in Brydges Street, a name now merged in Catherine Street, of which it is a continuation. We last saw Jem at the ring-side, looking, as a daily paper observed, “like a grey-moustached half-pay major,” at the wretched burlesque of a championship-fight, performed by Jem Mace and Joe Goss, at Farningham, Kent, on the 17th of May, 1866.

We must not omit to note that Ward possessed an inborn gift of artistic talent. His favourite pursuit was the wielding of the painter’s brush and maulstick. On several occasions Ward’s pictures were received with credit at the Liverpool Exhibition, and were mentioned approvingly by the public journals as displaying a remarkable degree of natural talent; so much so that an art critic wrote, “had Ward devoted himself to the study and practice of painting in his earlier years he would doubtless have attained eminence.” The writer, on his visit many years ago to Williamson Square, inspected in Jem’s studio, paintings (some sea-pieces especially) which bore marks of peculiar talent and no mean skill in manipulation. At this time too (she has retired from professional life), Miss Eleanor Ward, a pupil of Sir Julius Benedict, was fast rising in public esteem to the first ranks of pianoforte performers in the best of our concert-rooms. Ward’s hobbies, painting and music, adopted late in life, we fear injured his worldly calling as a sporting boniface, and, after several failures, he retired, by the assistance and votes of his friends, into that admirable institution, the Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum, in the Old Kent Road; in the parlour of one of the snug separate dwellings of which we conversed with him, still cheery and animated, in the month of June of this present year, 1880, in his 80th year; Jem dating his birth, as we have already stated, from “Boxing Day” in the last twelvemonth of the last century.